


Subject Theta

by isyotm



Category: BioShock, BioShock 2
Genre: Because Big Daddies crying over their Little Sisters is canon, Gen, How can you ignore that?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isyotm/pseuds/isyotm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rafael Novoa is a criminal who is "rehabilitated" after it's decided he's more trouble than he's worth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subject Theta

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't add the tag for graphic violence because there's only one short scene of it, but it's nothing more outrageous than what's depicted in standard gameplay.

“That’s twice now, Mulligan.”

“Wh-what? But it’s only the 15th. You said I had until the 17th.”

“Have you ever heard that saying ‘early is on time, on time is late’?”

“Y-yes.”

“You’re making a habit of being on time. Or late, really. I’d like you to start being _early_ , understand?”

“Yeah, but I was early with my girl and—”

“Are you mouthing off to me?”

“N-no. No, sir.”

“Good. Now, since I’m so generous—and I am, Mulligan, I am so very generous with you. I hope you appreciate it—”

“I do.”

 “Don’t interrupt—I’m going to give you until tomorrow, the 16th, for you to give me what you owe me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if you don’t… Well, I think you know what happens if you don’t.”

“Of course.”

“Now get out of my sight.”

The tiny man, Mulligan, scrambles off the bench and away, clearly relieved to no longer be pinned in place by the laser-focused eyes of the man he’d been conversing with.

“Who’s next, Huang?”

“That’s the last one for the day, Mr. Novoa.”

The man nods at his assistant and sits back in his chair, surveying the cafeteria of the penitentiary with the same cold, calculating stare he used to appraise Mulligan. The sight disgusts him, political prisoners brushing arms with hardened criminals, grown men, lauded as titans of industry, cowering away from prime spots at a simple look. He aims to equalize it, offer protection if necessary, but only at premium prices. The name Rafael Novoa was feared even on the surface and he aims to continue that legacy under the ocean as well, here in Ryan’s little utopia. He grins, baring every gleaming tooth. A utopia with a jail. What promise that shows.

“Perfect. Sit.”

His assistant obediently slips into the chair beside him, eyes panning over the inmates and seeing nothing but potential, the protection money his boss could collect if only he could find willing clients, the luxury they would gain. It paid well to be at the beck and call of the jail’s kingpin.

“Huang.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Keep an eye on Mulligan. He’s a cunning little fuck. Shifty. In for embezzling. Never trust someone who bites the hand who feeds him.”

“I’ll have Everett keep an eye out, sir. From what I understand, they share a cell.”

“Do it. I’m going to go buy us an…upgrade.”

Huang nods blankly. His employer was cold and cruel, but at least his face gave some indication as to what he was feeling. Huang was inscrutable and if for some reason people didn’t fear Novoa, they certainly feared his impassive secretary, who once snapped a man’s hand clean off his wrist without changing his expression. 

 

* * *

  

“I told you, he’s buying people.”

“So?”

“He’s using the money people give him to deck out his cell.”

“Which is what Sinclair wants. More for him and Sinclair Solutions. Come on, Mulligan, give me something I can _use_.

“I’m waiting.”

“I… I heard something, but I don’t know if it’s true.”

“Spit it out.”

“It could be bad.”

“Good. Now tell me.”

“I heard he’s hiding an escape plan under all that sh—stuff. He and his buddy are planning on getting out of here.”

“Is that so…”

“But—but I don’t know if it’s true, you know? Just what I heard.”

“What you hear is enough. Now get.” 

 

* * *

 

“Huang.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s today?”

“The 18th.”

“I see. Call Mulligan for me. He’s late. And I don’t just mean on time.”

“Yes, sir.”

Huang signals to one of Novoa’s hired men, imposing felons, men with _real_ rap sheets, men who come in the dead of night and make sure everyone pays on time or take the difference out in blood. The man approaches and waits for orders.

“Mulligan. He’s late,” Huang simply tells him.

“Don’t touch him,” Novoa adds. “A little birdy told me he’s been spreading rumors in some high places. I owe that little bitch a lesson and I plan on giving it to him.”

“Sir,” Huang begins, his imperturbable face creasing into the beginnings of a frown.

“Don’t ‘sir’ me. He’s crossed me one too many times. It’s time to pay a personal visit.”

Huang blinks but if he has any further protests, he doesn’t voice them.

 

* * *

 

“They’re…they’re coming after me, Warden. Sir.”

“So?”

“Wh-what?”

“So?”

“I… If they kill me, who’ll bring you information?”

“Someone who knows how to keep his head down. Clearly you’ve served your purpose. Get out of my office.” 

 

* * *

 

The next morning, the only remnant of the inmate Mulligan is a smear of red on the floor of his cell. Two prison guards barge into Novoa and Huang’s cell, grab the kingpin roughly, and drag him down the hall. He remains relatively calm, following through the familiar routine with minimal fuss, until he catches sight of Augustus Sinclair coming out of Warden Weir’s office. He knows what that means; they won’t be dragging him down to solitary today, down to his little tank with the leak next to Johnny Topside’s, nicknamed Delta. Today’s the day the scales tip and they decide he’s more trouble than he’s worth. Today’s the day he disappears.

 

* * *

 

He remembers very little of his time at Ryan Industries. There was lots of talking, phrases being thrown around he couldn’t quite understand like “Protector Pheromone Therapy” and “Larynx Modulation” and lots of uses of the word “bond.” What he did understand was the sight of Dr. Suchong scurrying around and the flashes of diving suits lined up along the walls. _Fucking Sinclair._ At least he finally understood what had happened to other inmates who had caused a problem, men Ryan had wanted to disappear more permanently than the inside of a jail cell at Persephone.

His life seems to grow darker day by day, the world beyond his immediate reach fading out of interest, out of memory, until the day he’s bonded to his Little Sister.

A small part of him knows this isn’t real, that his attachment to Annie has been biologically programmed inside of him, his primal instincts twisted and warped until his brain believes that staying in a 15-foot radius of this ghostly-looking little girl with the yellow eyes and the long needle is the only way he can survive. The part of him that used to be Rafael Novoa revolts against this at first—such sentiment is disgusting, unacceptable—but all of that is wiped out of his mind as Annie sings her songs about angels, reaches for him to pick her up after a gather, tells him he’s the best daddy in the whole world. Maybe this isn’t completely natural, but for the first time ever he feels happy, fulfilled, like he’s finally found his purpose in life, and how many people can say the same?

Annie is his whole world, wrapped up into an eight year-old girl with a high ponytail, a pink bow, and a dirty pink dress. She is his reason for living and he would do anything for her, anything to keep her safe, anything to make her smile. And as time passes, everything else about him fades until the man, the criminal Rafael Novoa is nothing more than a distant memory, replaced with the reality of Alpha Series Subject Theta and his bonded Sister Annie. 

 

* * *

 

They come out of nowhere.

He places Annie next to a corpse—“Look, daddy, an angel”—and waits for her to finish gathering. As she hums a song that she made up that morning, something about roses and dancing, he sees them: Four Splicers sneaking up on them out of the shadows, the woman on the left clearly poised to strike.

“Give me that, you little brat!” she snarls as she reaches for the needle, Annie’s prized possession.

Adrenaline pours into his system and he jumps into action. He pins the woman into place with his drill, the head whirring through bone and tissue, spattering blood everywhere as she screams, and blasts the other two with Incinerate!, eyes following them as they run away, sufficiently distracted and searching for a water source to put out the flames.

The woman in front of him falls silent, a gaping hole in the front of her blue and white polka-dotted dress, and he wipes her off the front of his drill, chasing after the two Leadheads. He lights the second one on fire again as he dashes forward and eviscerates the third, drilling until all three are dead the area is peaceful once more.

Wait. He counts the bodies carefully, twice, three times, but it still doesn’t add up.

One, two, three…

Weren’t there four earlier?

“Daddy!” Annie’s shrill cry pierces the air and he feels a primeval fear, the worst he’s ever known, well up in his gut. It’s as if his own life is in danger. Actually, it’s worse; Annie’s life is in danger.

“Daddy, help me!”

“Shut _up_!”

There’s the sound of a sharp slap and Annie whimpers. He tries to call her name, to tell her it’s okay, he’s here, he’ll save her, he won’t let anyone hurt her, but the best he can manage is a prolonged, wounded growl.

He rounds the corner at top speed, slamming the side of his body into a wall as he skids across the floor, but the pain barely registers. He scans the room but he doesn’t see anything and he starts to panic. _Annie, where are you?_ It feels like his heartbeat is pounding her name. _Annie, Annie, Annie…_

He catches a movement in his peripheral and looks up to see a Spider grinning manically down at him, Annie hanging off the end of one of its hooks, the point of it sunk into her dress and deep into the skin of shoulder. “Daddy.” Her voice sounds thick and he realizes that her face is shiny with tears. She’s crying. She’s terrified, in pain.

He slams his body into the wall again, this time on purpose, and watches in satisfaction as the roof shakes and the Splicer seems afraid, a flicker of uncertainty appearing on its face before it seems to regain control of the situation. He can only watch in horror as it skitters away, taking Annie with it, bragging about how much ADAM she’ll give him.

Something in his brain stretches for an immeasurably long time as Annie gets further and further away from him, as he races to follow them, to find her. It doesn’t snap until the Splicer harvests her. When it does, he stands completely still and for a split second, it almost feels like she’s right next to him again—warm, soft, smiling and so very happy just to be out and about together—until his brain is overwhelmed with unimaginable, incomprehensible pain and he blacks out.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up feeling like something is missing, like some integral piece of him has died, and it slowly drives him insane. He doesn’t sleep for days, walking the entirety of Rapture, its halls both dry and flooded, its passages into the ocean and back. He stands in countless airlocks, traverses rooms both familiar and not. He ends up badly injured from fights with other Daddies when he tries to attack them or steal their Sisters, but he always backs out when he looks into the little girl’s face and sees a stranger staring back at him. The only thought that keeps him going is the memory of a smiling face and her name as insistent as his pulse. _Annie, Annie, Annie…_

He begins to slow down after a few weeks, his feet dragging in their enormous diving boots as there’s still no sign of her, not even the barest sense. He has a feeling, one he doesn’t allow himself to fully acknowledge, a creeping sense of dread that makes him worry he will never find her, that Annie no longer exists. The idea of giving up on her infuriates him enough to carry on for another month, healing after being drilled to near death, attacking anything that moves like some kind of rabid dog, until he finds the Gatherer’s Garden.

He ignores its neon lights and the two statues of young girls—he interrogated them at the beginning of his search as best he could, but none of the statues ever answered, unable to understand his frantic grunting, unable to open their plastic lips and form words of advice or solace—in front of it until the advertisement begins.

“My daddy’s smarter than Einstein, stronger than Hercules…”

He turns, staring at the machine in horror as the voice continues. _Annie’s_ voice. It’s been so long and now the only way he can hear that sound again is through a tinny speaker from some stupid machine.

He scrabbles at the front of it with his gloved hands, convinced for a second that maybe it’s her ADAM slug inside that’s speaking, that maybe if he can find it he can see her again, before the advertisement finishes and the speaker clicks off again, leaving him alone with unbearable silence.

The sense of loss and longing overwhelms him and he falls to his knees, the metal of his diving suit reflecting the pink lights as he finally breaks down and cries, accepting what he realizes he knew all along.

She’s gone.


End file.
